


The Comfort of a Heartbeat

by Crystal_MoonSword



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystal_MoonSword/pseuds/Crystal_MoonSword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin attempts to cope with a new horror. "He was beyond fear of execution now; nothing they could do to him could hurt more than how he felt now anyway.  Let Uther kill him.  He was already burning."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost from fanfiction.net where I write under the pen name flaming-crystal-star. I decided to have a copy on this site as well. It was beta-read by Ultra-Geek before the initial posting, and I am still extremely grateful for the help I was given to make this story better. I hope everyone enjoys!

Merlin rushed through the forest, keeping eyes and ears open for any clue of where the prince had gone, as well as using his magic to point him in the right direction. He couldn’t help wondering how it was that they always seemed to get into these kinds of situations. What should have been a small and uneventful patrol had gone horribly wrong, when Arthur, Merlin, and a group of four knights had been ambushed by a band of about twenty renegades. Merlin had lost sight of Arthur in the chaos, and had left the last remaining knight to fight off the last three renegades on his own, while he went to find his master. The young servant had felt a pang of guilt at leaving the knight behind, but Arthur was the important one.

After a few minutes of running the young man came upon a clearing, and stopped briefly in horror. Arthur had been led into a trap. He was now at the other side of the clearing fighting about five men all by himself. Merlin had seen his friend fight countless times before, and he knew something was wrong. The prince was much slower than usual, and he appeared to be favoring his right side. Merlin shouted out to his friend, running towards him once again, hoping to distract the fighters who were slowly but surely overpowering the prince. Before he could get to him, he was overset by several other men who had appeared out of nowhere. Merlin hadn't noticed the extra men on the edge of the clearing, but they had his attention now. Merlin used his magic immediately, sending one of them slamming into a tree and making a heavy branch fall onto another one. Subtlety was not an option here. There were too many of them, and Arthur was in danger. There was no time to be careful. Bursts of fire and wind left his hands, slamming into the rest of the approaching men. Some he hit with fire, and others he slammed full force into trees. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this desperate. He had to get to Arthur before something happened to him. He had to protect him.

When he chanced a glance at Arthur, the prince was down to the last two men. He saw that the older man had glanced back at him and had seen the obvious magic he was displaying in order to dispatch the attackers. Arthur’s eyes had been filled with confusion, doubt, hurt, and worst of all, betrayal, anger, and slight fear. The emotions had been clear to see for a split second, before the prince snapped back to fighting for his life. Merlin felt a sharp pain shoot through his heart at that glance before he forced himself to refocus on defending himself and rescuing Arthur. There would be time to talk and explain later. He just had to get them both out of here.

Merlin dispatched two new attackers, and merely glanced at them as they fell to the ground, ready to rush off to Arthur. That glance made his blood turn cold and he stopped in his tracks, just staring in abject terror and growing denial. These two men had been two of the ones attacking Arthur, and they would never have started after Merlin unless he was the only one left that was a threat. He didn’t want to even think about what that meant, but he turned his head to where he had last seen his friend, desperate to know, and felt his mind white out for a few moments. The world felt like it had stopped for that brief span of time as he stared at Arthur lying on the ground, unmoving.

After processing this horrifying sight, the world started again and Merlin ran frantically to the prince. His mind was frighteningly clear and already shrieking frantic denials. Arthur was fine. He had to be fine. The men were gone; they were finally safe. They could go back home to Camelot now, and this would be one more victory for Arthur to boast about, like the arrogant prat he was. They would have a long talk about Merlin’s magic, Arthur would be furious and hurt and would probably yell at him, but eventually he would understand and though he would probably give him a mountain of chores to do for a while as revenge for keeping such a huge secret, their friendship would remain intact and they would be stronger for it.

Arthur was fine. He was just wounded. He had collapsed from exhaustion or blood loss, and the men had given up on him believing him to be dead, but he was just hurt, and Merlin would be able to heal him. Arthur was going to be alright. He probably wasn’t even seriously hurt. He was probably just unconscious. Merlin knew how often that happened. The clotpole had been knocked out so many times that the real magic was how he managed to not get brain damage. Well, more brain damage than he probably had normally. The prince was knocked out. That was what had happened. He was hurt, or unconscious, or just unable to move from exhaustion, but he would be fine. Merlin knew that his thoughts were chasing themselves in circles at this point, but he couldn’t help it. His best friend, his prince and future king, was lying on the ground and hadn’t risen or moved for who knew how long. But it was going to be alright because Arthur was going to be fine and Merlin would fix whatever was wrong with him and then they could head back. He needed to believe that the older man was fine. No, Arthur _was_ fine. He had to be. Arthur couldn’t be dying. Arthur couldn’t be _dead_.

Merlin fell to his knees by Arthur’s side, grasping at him desperately. He gripped Arthur’s wrist tightly, trying to find a pulse, but not being able to. Merlin was still caught up in his denial. His whole body was shaking, heart pounding rapidly in his chest. It was his fear that was preventing him from finding a pulse; that was all it was. It _had_ to be.

He saw the deep wound in Arthur’s side, and his eyes blurred. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t a fatal wound. It _couldn’t_ be. It wasn’t Arthur’s destiny to die like this. He wasn’t even king yet. He hadn’t united Albion, he hadn’t brought magic back, it wasn’t even Mordred who dealt him the blow, and Kilgarrah had said the druid boy was the one destined to kill Arthur, although Merlin wouldn’t be letting that happen either if he could help it. Still, Arthur wasn’t destined to die as a prince in a patrol gone awry, so that meant he was going to be _fine_. The young warlock put his head against his friend’s chest, praying to hear a heartbeat or feel him breathing, no matter how faint it was, because as long as he was still alive, Merlin would be able to heal him. He choked on a sob as he heard and felt _nothing_ , and his mind was slowly starting to let go of the denial that he was still desperately trying to hold on to for his own sanity, because it _couldn’t be true._

Merlin shook his friend, and slapped his face lightly a few times, trying to make him wake. He even started pleading with the prince, although the more time went on, the more the denial was stripped from him, and yet still he tried, his voice breaking more and more with every plea that passed his lips.

“Please Arthur. Come on. You’re going to be fine. Just wake up. I’m begging you, and you know I never beg you for anything, since your head’s big enough as it is. Come on you supercilious, arrogant, patronizing, dollopheaded, prat. Wake up. Please. You have to be ok. _Please!_ ”

The prince still didn’t move, and as his body became paler and colder, the last shred of denial Merlin possessed finally broke. Arthur _wasn’t_ going to be fine. Nothing was ever going to be fine ever again. Arthur was never going to become king, Albion was never going to form, magic was never going to come back, and most importantly to Merlin, his best friend was never going to wake up _again_. There was not going to be any more banter between them, no more friendly teasing, no more playful insults that they didn’t really mean but had instead become some kind of strange form of affection, no more confusing the people of Camelot with how a prince and servant could be so uncommonly close despite status difference, no more arguments over what was best for Arthur to do, no more hunting trips that he hated and sometimes purposely sabotaged but still went on because Arthur asked him to, no more patrols, no more moments of closeness that Arthur tried to cover by giving him a list of even more chores to do afterwards.

Merlin was falling apart. He would never hear Arthur call him an idiot again, the insult often laced with affection, never hear him say “shut up _Mer_ lin,” in that tone of fond exasperation or plain frustration that usually meant that he was right but Arthur didn’t want to admit it, never hear the prince berate him for being too loud or clumsy on a hunt or patrol or for not being able to understand his strange hand signals when the prince tried to silently direct him to do something. He would never see the moments of pratishness that Arthur couldn’t seem to get rid of completely, despite being much better than he was when they had first met, never see any more stupidly dangerous tournaments, with Arthur walking away triumphant as always, never see those moments, that had been getting more common every day, when Arthur showed the signs of the king he was destined to be, the king that Merlin would serve happily for the rest of his life, the king and friend that he would be proud to stand beside as they ushered in a time of peace together. Now he would never see that day, never see Arthur crowned, never serve at his side, never see the dawn of a new and prosperous Camelot where magical and non-magical people alike could live side by side without fearing harsh and unjust laws. He was never going to be able to explain his magic to Arthur, was never going to be able to earn forgiveness, and they would never strengthen their friendship now that they would have no more barriers of secrets between them that had been keeping them apart. His last memory of his best friend’s expression was going to be that look of pain and betrayal and fear in the well-known blue eyes that cut him to the core. Arthur was never going to be alright, and Merlin was never going to be alright again either. Nothing was going to be fine, because Arthur was _dead_.      

The young sorcerer gathered his friend into his arms and let his head fall onto Arthur’s shoulder, now sobbing openly. He remembered his friend’s words, “ _no man is worth your tears_ ,” and knew the prince wouldn’t want him to cry like this. He knew the other man had died with honor, taking down more men than most people could stand against and helping get rid of a threat to his kingdom and his people. He could just imagine Arthur’s words, if he could see Merlin breaking down like this. “Don’t be such a girl _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin knew all this, and yet he just couldn’t stop. This _hurt_. This hurt more than anything he had ever experienced. There was a painful pressure in his chest that kept growing to unbearable levels, which he only found relief from by screaming or sobbing as loud or as long as he could, but it would just build up again, forcing him to do it all over again in a vicious cycle of pain and despair. He was distraught and falling apart more and more with every passing minute. Merlin was being torn apart by guilt and sorrow. His best friend was gone because he wasn’t strong enough, smart enough, or quick enough to protect him. He had failed his destiny. He had failed Camelot. He had failed _Arthur_.

Even his magic was screaming in agony. Merlin was just barely managing to keep a hold of it, knowing that it would decimate the clearing he was in, and who knew how much more, if he let it have free rein. He could feel it burning in his body, scorching his veins, eager to burst out of him in order to rip and tear and destroy whatever was in its way. Anything to get rid of the overwhelming pain, the growing sense of emptiness. The young man remembered the dragon’s words about how he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin and two halves of a whole. Merlin had thought he had understood what that meant because as opposite as he and Arthur were, Arthur was still his closest friend, as close as a brother.

Now, however, he had true understanding because it felt like half of him had been viciously ripped away, like he wasn’t even whole anymore. Merlin hadn’t known that his magic had an awareness that allowed him to feel if his friend was alive or in trouble, although he should have guessed after the incident with the Morteus flower. It was only now that he realized this; now that there was a gaping hole in him where that awareness of his friend’s life had been before. There was a jagged wound in his soul that would never heal.

After what seemed like an endless amount of time, Merlin had no more tears left to cry, but the pain still hadn’t abated. He needed a release of this build up of magic, anger, and hurt. Still keeping a tight hold of his best friend’s body, he raised his hand, and his eyes burned gold as, with a yell, he released several blasts of fire and wind at some trees in the distance, decimating them where they stood. Then with another yell and wave of his hand he caused several rocks and boulders in the clearing to blow apart. Merlin heard a gasp and turned his head towards the sudden sound. The knight who he had left behind had finally managed to find them, but it was too late. Much too late.

He saw the man, a newer knight who he didn’t know as well as some of the others, approach cautiously with some fear in his eyes. His eyes dropped to the prince’s body still cradled in the servant’s arms, and Merlin saw them fill with pain and sadness. The knight came right next to Merlin, and looked at him in distrust, fear, and uncertainty, having seen the display of destructive and obvious magic and not knowing quite what to do. Merlin knew he was going to be arrested. This knight didn’t know him, had no reason to trust him, and now Arthur wasn’t even around to defend him. Merlin couldn’t bring himself to care, and merely stared up at the man with dead eyes.

“I couldn’t protect him,” he whispered, voice breaking and raw.

Merlin saw the man’s eyes soften and flash with sympathy for the briefest of seconds, before his expression hardened again. “You will come with me to bring the prince’s body back to Camelot, and then you will be tried and executed for the crimes of sorcery as the law of Camelot dictates.”

Merlin nodded, not even having the will to resist anymore, but looked up pleadingly for a moment. “Can you at least wait to turn me in until after Arthur has been laid to rest properly? I want to be there for that, and besides, I don’t want my execution to distract from his death rites. After those have been done, I’ll come quietly. I promise I won’t even resist.”

The knight looked uncertain for a moment, but finally nodded. He too didn’t want the scandal of the prince’s manservant being a sorcerer to take the attention of the people away from where it should rightfully be: the funeral of the crown prince. He reached down, and removed the prince’s body from Merlin’s arms, slinging the body over his shoulder. He would carry Arthur back to the horses and from there they would head back to Camelot, for Arthur to be put to rest and for Merlin to be executed soon after. Merlin was beyond fear of execution now; nothing they could do to him could hurt more than how he felt now anyway. Let Uther kill him. He was already burning. The flames were blazing higher and higher and-.

Merlin sprang bolt upright in his bedroll with a scream. His eyes wide, he swung his head back and forth frantically to take in his surroundings, forgetting where he was in the wake of his terror. It took him awhile to recognize his location, but he soon remembered that he had been out on a hunt with Arthur and they had settled down for the night to return to Camelot in another day or so. Fighting his impulse to walk across the campsite and wake the prince to make sure he was still alive, or at least to look in his direction and watch him breathe for a few minutes, he brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. Merlin shuddered, recalling the nightmare in vivid detail, and against his will a few tears slipped down his cheeks.

The young man had dreamed of Arthur dying several times before, and dreaming of the prince dying while hating him for his secret was even more common. It was his worst nightmare, so of course he dreamt of it more than once. This nightmare was different though, in a way that he was scared to truly examine. For one thing, this was the first time he had awoken after the desperate grieving; usually he would wake after finding Arthur dead. For another, this dream had _hurt_. He could still feel the agony that his friend’s death in his dream had caused, the painful experience of being only half of what he had been before, and knew instinctively that at least that part of the dream was true. He knew somehow that it was how he would really feel should Arthur die before him. He started shaking at the mere thought of that. That kind of pain would be unbearable. That was another thing. The dream was so _real_. It had so much detail that it was like it was really happening. He could even feel a residual ache in his magic, as if left over from the excruciating burning he had felt. Merlin stiffened, and started shaking even harder as he thought of something he hadn’t considered.

What if it hadn’t been just a dream? What if it had been a premonition? He wasn’t a true seer like Morgana, but he had seen the future before. He had seen several horrible events before they had happened, and he hadn’t been able to stop them until after so much damage had already been done. Merlin had tried going against destiny before, and it had never really worked. He was sure that several times he had actually made things worse. What if this was going to happen? What if Arthur truly died? Even worse, what if this possible future was brought about through his own efforts to prevent it?

Panicked thoughts raced through his head, and the young man tried desperately to stop the constant flow of fears and doubts, but he had lost control. There was a small part of him that recognized that he was being irrational, that the nightmare could have been simply a nightmare, and that even if it had been a premonition, there was still a good possibility that he could stop it from coming to pass. However, that part of him was being overpowered by a currently much larger part of him that was still completely shaken from the dream, the representation of all his worst fears come alive in a way that a mere dream had never done before. This part of him was screaming that his magic was already feeling a phantom pain from Arthur’s death, an echo of the terrifying and unbearable future that could possibly come about. The magic was crying that his soul felt like it might rip apart any moment from the idea that the dream might be a vision of the future, and his mind was throwing every single failure he’d ever had when it came to protecting people into his thoughts until he couldn’t take it anymore. Merlin was so overwhelmed that he let out a loud, harsh, and partially strangled sob, and then he buried his face in his arms, which were still wrapped around his knees, and started to cry as quietly as he could.   

The young man soon felt a hand grip his shoulder, firmly yet still somehow seeming hesitant, and he looked up from his knees, blinking his eyes to remove the blur, and had to choke off another sob. Arthur himself knelt in front of him, his familiar, and wonderfully _alive_ , blue eyes looking at him in sympathy, uncertainty, and slight concern. The prince’s grip on his shoulder tightened when their eyes met and he had barely asked if Merlin was alright before Merlin launched at him, gripping his wrist tightly and placing his head over his heart, remaining there as he listened to the comforting proof that his best friend was with him and still alive.


	2. Chapter 2

To say the prince was shocked and confused would have been an understatement. He had awoken to a thrashing noise and, thinking there was something in the forest that could be a threat, he had grabbed his sword and stood up quickly, unmoving as he looked around the camp for anything suspicious. When his eyes fell on Merlin’s bedroll, he had relaxed his grip on his sword and put it back down on the ground, realizing that his manservant had been making the noise, as he was in the throes of a nightmare. Arthur was in the middle of arguing with himself over whether or not it would be that good of an idea to wake up the younger man and risk embarrassing the both of them when Merlin suddenly bolted upright with a scream.

Wincing in sympathy but thinking the servant would soon calm down after registering where he was and that it had only been a dream that had terrified him so much, Arthur had lain back down on his bedroll. This time he was facing Merlin in order to keep an eye on him. Part of him had wanted to approach Merlin and try to help him calm, but that part had been overshadowed by a much larger part that feared making things worse. Arthur knew he wasn’t all that good at comforting people, and there was a good chance that any effort on his part would only succeed in humiliating both of them and would not be of any help at all. Therefore he had watched, his internal battle with himself only getting the more heated as his manservant seemed to be getting even more distraught as opposed to less so as the time passed. However, when he had heard the young man let out a loud choked sob and proceed to break down completely, Arthur had finally stood up and started to make his way over to where Merlin sat, huddled and crying on top of his bedroll. 

The prince’s approach had been hesitant, as he had no idea what to do or say to aid in calming Merlin down, but he had still been determined to at least try. It just felt wrong that Merlin, the man who always seemed to be cheerful, was sobbing and shaking so harshly over a dream. Merlin was his best friend, even though he would never, under any circumstances, admit it out loud, and Arthur didn’t like to see him so upset. He had knelt down next to the trembling form of his servant and had reached out a hand to grip his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked.

He suddenly found himself with a trembling Merlin pressed up against him, hand gripping his wrist and head pushed sideways against his chest.

Arthur stiffened when Merlin had nearly tackled him to the ground, and he wasn’t anywhere near relaxed, but he was valiantly suppressing his instinct to push the other man away from him. Arthur shoved down the instinctive urge to push Merlin away when the servant briefly looked up at him. His eyes were full of tears, and his face was the very picture of agony, despair and fear. The young servant looked so haunted that Arthur felt a sympathetic pang in his heart at the sight, and now he couldn’t bring himself to push Merlin away. Not when he looked like _that_.

Just because he was going to let Merlin stay where he was, however, didn’t mean he was comfortable with it. The prince was also uncomfortable with the idea of putting an arm around Merlin to try to comfort him, so he kept his arms where they were, but left the servant where he was as well. He could admit, with some shame, that even with the young man looking so distraught, the prince would never have let him draw comfort this way if they hadn’t been alone. His pride wouldn’t have allowed it. Although, he would like to believe that he would have found a way to comfort his servant in another way- one that didn’t involve so much physical contact. All of that aside, the fact remained that Arthur had no idea what he could do to make this situation better. He didn’t know what the dream could have been, not to have affected Merlin this much.

Arthur forced himself to relax, at least mostly, and he was relieved to see that as the minutes passed Merlin’s shaking was slowly decreasing. Thankfully, he was finally calming. Arthur suppressed a sigh of relief.

“Are you alright now Merlin? That must have been a really bad dream.”

Merlin suddenly stiffened and, with a quick look up at him, started shaking again, and pressed himself closer. Arthur cursed inwardly because he had seen from that brief glimpse of Merlin’s eyes that his question had sent the younger man back into the nightmare. Arthur was almost certain that Merlin didn’t even know where they were anymore. How was he going to convince Merlin that he was safe and that it was just a dream that would never come to pass? How was he to calm him down and make him believe that Arthur would never let any harm come to him? The prince realized that Merlin seemed to be in a kind of trance, so lost was he in his own thoughts, and that he was actually murmuring words to himself. It almost seemed like he was trying to convince himself of something. Arthur strained his ears to hear what he was saying, and his eyes widened in shock.

“I couldn’t protect him,” Merlin was saying, again and again, “He’s going to die because I’m not good enough. But no. It won’t happen. I won’t let it happen. Arthur is going to be fine.”

Arthur’s eyes stared down in surprise at the trembling form of his manservant, his mind going over what he had heard and understanding the words for what they were, and found that he was beginning to smile faintly despite himself. His eyes softened in sympathy and affection, while his face took on an expression of fond exasperation. The fact that he was displaying these emotions so openly was something he would vehemently deny should he ever be confronted about it at a later date, but at this moment it couldn’t be refuted. He should have known really. It was just like Merlin to be afraid for others rather than for himself. It was also just like his ridiculous manservant to think that Arthur needed to be protected, by him of all people. Honestly, when was the idiot ever going to understand that Arthur could take care of himself? He didn’t need his servant to protect him, and it’s not like Merlin would be able to do so anyway. Arthur was the prince of Camelot and the best knight in the realm, and Merlin was just a servant who was utterly useless with a sword.

Besides, if anyone needed protecting, it was Merlin, and it was Arthur’s job to look after him, not the other way around. Arthur was the future king, and as such, he was responsible for his people’s safety and well-being. If he couldn’t even make sure his servant was cared for, he was never going to be able to make sure his entire kingdom was cared for. Merlin was his personal servant, and therefore his responsibility. Still, the extremely loyal and utterly ridiculous servant never seemed to understand that. He had this foolish notion that Arthur was _his_ responsibility, beyond the master and servant relationship. Trust Merlin to have thoughts that were the exact opposite of reality.

Now that Arthur knew the dream had been about his own death rather than something happening to Merlin, he was able to realize something about their position that had escaped his attention before, as he had thought it was just insignificant beyond being a way that Merlin could seek comfort. The younger man _was_ seeking comfort, but it was even more than that. His hand gripped Arthur’s wrist in such a way that he was effectively feeling his pulse, and his head was positioned so that his ear was almost exactly above Arthur’s heart, listening to his heartbeat and feeling him breathe. Merlin was pushed up against him because he wanted the reassurance that Arthur was still alive. Arthur sighed quietly, and hesitantly put his other arm around Merlin’s shoulders, his hand resting on top of Merlin’s head, pushing him into a better position to hear his heartbeat.

The prince still wasn’t completely comfortable with Merlin being this close, and he was even less so now that he was essentially embracing him, but now that he knew that Merlin was so distraught and haunted over a dream of Arthur’s death, he felt like he owed the servant at least this much. How could he refuse him the comfort of hearing for himself that his master was alive? Arthur could feel that Merlin was still shaking slightly, although he was slowly calming down, and so he spoke to him softly; his hand and arm still keeping Merlin in his place against him.

“It’s alright Merlin,” Arthur said. “It was just a dream. I’m fine, and I’m still alive. You can hear that for yourself. Nothing is going to happen to me. Both of us are safe.”

The older man was tempted to tell Merlin that he could take care of himself just fine, that as a prince and a warrior he didn’t need his servant to protect him, that it wasn’t Merlin’s job to worry this much over Arthur, but he knew that it wouldn’t make a difference. He had had the same argument with Merlin several times, when the servant wasn’t this distraught, and it had never made a difference. Merlin was always going to believe it was his responsibility to protect him and make sure he was safe, simply because he considered the prince to be his friend, despite their different statuses. Therefore, Arthur held his tongue on that subject for once, to be brought up at another time, and just left it at the reassurances that they were both still alive and safe and that it was going to remain that way. He kept Merlin pressed against his heartbeat, with his hand threaded through his hair, and literally felt it when the younger man had finally registered his words. Merlin’s shaking gradually decreased until it finally stopped all together, and he relaxed completely against Arthur’s chest.

The prince let him remain where he was for a few more minutes, wanting to make sure that the nightmarish vision wouldn’t strike Merlin again, and eventually Merlin’s tight grip on his wrist slackened. Arthur glanced down at Merlin to check on how he was, and couldn’t quite manage to completely suppress the fond and relieved smile that formed on his face. Merlin had apparently fallen asleep while lying against him and it seemed that this rest was peaceful and untroubled. Arthur carefully maneuvered the young man away from him and onto the bedroll, being sure not to wake him, and he even brought the blanket that had been thrown off while Merlin was battling the dream back over the servant’s slumbering form, so he wouldn’t get cold over night. The prince tried to convince himself that he only did so because it would be far too much trouble to find a temporary replacement for Merlin, should he fall ill, but he didn’t quite manage to believe it. Arthur just shook his head in resignation and, taking one last look at Merlin to ensure his sleep was undisturbed, quietly returned to his own bedroll to lie down and hopefully get some sleep of his own. He had quite a bit to think about now though.

Honestly, he couldn’t even lie to himself anymore. Merlin, his almost completely incompetent, totally clumsy, and always babbling manservant, had somehow become his closest friend, in spite of all his efforts to prevent it. Arthur would never tell anyone, but it was true nonetheless. The younger man was one of the most loyal and self-sacrificing people Arthur had ever met, and as foolish and idiotic as Merlin almost always was, the older man knew that Merlin could be counted on and that Merlin would do almost anything for him, provided that it didn’t conflict with what he believed was right. Merlin was not only his best friend, but their relationship was also somehow very close to how he believed it would be like to have a nuisance of a younger brother; another thing that he would not be admitting, _ever_ , in this lifetime or in any other.

Merlin was the bothersome younger brother, who has to listen to his orders and resents it, who is never afraid to speak his mind, who is never worried about confronting Arthur if he thinks the prince is in the wrong, who is always coming up with new taunts and names to throw at him, who is a person who he can get into arguments with almost constantly but then be laughing with at something else later on, and who seems to live to drive Arthur to insanity. He was also the loyal younger brother, who while he would be the first to insult Arthur would also be the first one to defend him to others, who reluctantly and almost against his will looked up to Arthur as someone admirable despite how often they disagreed, who believed in Arthur more than anyone else did, who could be trusted to always be watching out for Arthur and to always want what was best for him, who would happily stay by his side and offer advice to help guide him no matter how unwanted it was, who would always be on Arthur’s side and even give his life for him without any hesitation, and who Arthur knew without doubt would be the first to bow to him and swear allegiance the day Arthur took the throne as King of Camelot. Arthur meanwhile was the self-confident older brother, who bossed Merlin around constantly, who never really wanted to listen to Merlin’s not-quite-wisdom, who would throw back just as many witty retorts as Merlin and tease and taunt him mercilessly, who got great enjoyment through making Merlin’s life a living hell, and who would never admit how much he actually cared for the younger man, disguising his affection through yet more taunts, and insults, and orders; yet he would always be there for Merlin as well.

Arthur turned onto his side and looked over at Merlin, relieved to see that Merlin’s nightmare did not seem like it would resurface, and then rolled back onto his back to fall asleep. He wouldn’t mention to Merlin anything about the dream and what had gone on after he awoke. The prince knew bringing it up would just bring embarrassment to both of them, and besides, the dream had scared the young servant so badly that the topic of what it was about was probably best left alone. Arthur remembered the dream he had had a few months ago that Merlin had comforted him over, and he smiled at the thought that at least now he had paid Merlin back. Neither incident would ever be mentioned again. Both situations had turned out alright in the end. With these thoughts, Arthur slowly drifted to sleep, one that was undisturbed by nightmares, either Merlin’s or his own.

The next day Merlin was packing up the camp site and reflecting on the night before. Arthur had made no mention of his nightmare and subsequent breakdown and probably never would bring it up again, for which he was very grateful. A very large part of him couldn’t help being absolutely mortified at how he had behaved the night before, falling apart so completely over a dream and clinging to Arthur for comfort. However, there was another large part of him that felt nothing but gratitude that his friend had overcome his uncertainty and discomfort to try to calm him down and ease his mind. Merlin knew that the prince had had absolutely no idea what to do at first, but he had still made the effort and actually had succeeded in making him feel better. Hearing Arthur’s reassuring words, hearing the confirmation of his words and heartbeat that his friend was indeed alive and safe, had comforted Merlin immensely and allowed him to drift back to sleep with no further trouble.

Not that he had meant to fall asleep on top of Arthur. He had just felt so relieved and unbelievably safe knowing that his best friend was alive and that they were together and completely fine that he couldn’t stop himself from falling back asleep, lulled by the soothing pattern of the older man’s heartbeat; a fact that the young servant was embarrassed at the mere memory of. However, the lingering humiliation the young warlock felt due to the situation was almost worth it when he considered that he had yet another example of how Arthur wasn’t truly a prat all the time and more evidence that he did indeed care for Merlin, despite his denials and the fact that he would never admit it. Merlin was very thankful, and the episode had just made him more determined to keep his best friend safe. If the dream truly had been a vision of the future, then he would be able to recognize it if and when it started to come about, and he would make sure the ending was all together different.

Merlin was smiling at his thoughts, when he was suddenly hit with a rolled up blanket that was thrown at him by none other than the prince, yet again back to being a complete prat. “Come on _Mer_ lin. Stop daydreaming. I want to get a good start on the hunting for the day.”

The young servant finished the packing and glared at his master, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “I’m moving as fast as I can sire. Arthur I will never understand your obsession with this. What enjoyment could you possibly get out of killing all these harmless animals?”

Arthur merely responded to him with his own eye roll. “This argument _again_ Merlin? You talk enough rubbish that it’s even more annoying to hear you repeat yourself. As I’ve told you before, I like the challenge of it, although with the amount of brain you have it shouldn’t really surprise me if you’ve forgotten. It takes stealth and skill, which you of course would know nothing about considering that you’re so useless at everything and that you trip over your own feet more often than anyone else I’ve ever met. Besides, how would we eat if I didn’t hunt?”

Merlin suppressed a smile at the usual taunts; the prince was apparently in a very good mood. Instead, he feigned annoyance, and gave back the expected retort. “Yes Arthur, because you really feed the entire castle with what you kill. We would all starve if that were true.”

Arthur threw a glare at his servant, but Merlin could tell that he was enjoying himself. “Shut up _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin grinned. “Prat.”

Arthur just turned his back and began to walk away, but not before his manservant had caught a slight glimpse of the answering grin on his face. “Idiot.”

Merlin continued smiling as he followed after his friend. Yes, everything was back to normal. Arthur was safe, he was safe, and it was going to stay that way. There was no need to worry after all. They would look after each other, as they always had and as they always would.

“Hurry up _Mer_ lin. And for goodness sake is it really that difficult to walk quietly? It’s a wonder I ever catch anything when you’re around. You’re always tripping over everything and making more noise than a wild boar.”

Merlin sighed; this time in genuine annoyance tinged with resignation. He supposed that it was too much to ask that they would get through a hunting trip without Arthur commenting over and over on his clumsiness and apparent lack of stealth. The prince was such a dollophead. Muttering under his breath, his eyes flashed gold when Arthur’s back was turned, and his condescending and overbearing master proceeded to trip over a root, coming down with a very loud crash. Merlin smirked. “You were saying Arthur?”

Arthur managed to right himself, getting off the ground and storming off, throwing a frustrated glare back at his servant, who was obviously trying to repress snickers and not doing all that well. “Shut up _Mer_ lin!” 


End file.
